


Kiss the Cook

by despattillo



Series: Ficlets [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Breakfast, Domestic, Fake AH Crew, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, basically gavin can’t cook but he tries, but super lowkey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 23:08:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16901550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/despattillo/pseuds/despattillo
Summary: "Wait," Michael said, muffled through a mouthful of food, "since when can you cook?""Uh," Gavin grimaced, "I can't. To be fair, I was still bloody exhausted when I had the idea."





	Kiss the Cook

**Author's Note:**

> short, sweet, and honestly just an excuse for me to finally post something

Gavin stirred sleepily from his place on the couch, taking a moment to realize that the sunlight spilling onto him was unusual. He shifted, sitting up and blushing as he saw that he'd fallen asleep against Michael. The lad hazily recalled how the crew had spent the night before binge drinking stolen liquor and playing Mario games sloppily in celebration of Michael's birthday. The rest of the crew had drifted off one by one, claiming that alcohol poisoning or exhaustion would kill them soon; Gavin had held on, cheering Michael through round after round of shots. At some point, the two of them must have passed out or fallen asleep.

Judging by the intensity of the morning sun- and his newly developing hangover- Gavin figured it was still mid morning. Someone- most likely Jack- had cleaned the living room, removing empty bottles and plastic bags from last nights endeavors. Gavin made a mental note to thank her later, then turned to Michael. He was still sound asleep. Gavin couldn't help but smile at Michael's peaceful form; it was a rare sight to see him so calm, and the light that speckled his form only added to the image of serenity. Humming in thought, Gavin resisted the urge to cuddle back up to Michael and lifted himself off the couch. If he was up this early, he might as well do something with the time.

This thought led Gavin to the kitchen, which was his first mistake. He'd never been especially good at cooking, nor had he even attempted to make a meal since he'd moved into the penthouse; Jack and Ryan were surprisingly good cooks, both with a passion for gourmet experiments. Gavin decided to start small: a bowl of cereal. He casually ransacked the cupboards, searching for any kind of quick fix breakfast, but found a disconcerting lack of all things cereal, pop-tart, and granola.

“Must’ve been Jeremy, little prick,” Gavin huffed, then continued his hunt for vaguely-breakfast-related food. The fridge begrudgingly offered eggs and uncooked bacon as Gavin rummaged through it- _seems promising_ he thought. Dizzily, Gavin turned on the stove, trying to push away his headache.

”Coffee- coffee will cure my bloody hangover,” he muttered, switching on the keruig. As he watched a steaming stream of black coffee spill into his mug, Gavin realized he did not know the intricacies of frying an egg. Or bacon.

“Well,” he reasoned, “whenever Ryan cooks things in a pan, he uses oil. So I should use oil.” Gavin opened a few cabinets before finding a half empty bottle. “Right. Canola oil it is.” He poured an unassuming amount of oil in the pan, shifting the cookware so that the oil fully coated the bottom of the pan. If Ryan could see him now, Gavin was sure he'd have a fit- so it was a good thing the penthouse was quiet this morning. Admittedly, Gavin did miss the presence of his crew- his friends- but he knew Michael was waiting for him, sleeping still in the living room.

Unceremoniously, Gavin cracked an egg on the side of the pan, and let it drip from the halves of the egg shell. To his surprise, there were no renegade pieces of shell that had made it into the pan. He cracked three more, then switched the burner to low. More sure of himself now, Gavin wielded his spatula with all the confidence of an audacious 4 year old. Gavin shuffled the eggs around in the pan, enjoying the sizzling sound from the pan and luxuriating in the rich taste of his coffee.

As Gavin tried to judge how scrambled eggs were _supposed_ to look when fully done, he eyed the package of bacon on the counter. Deciding to forego another attempt at frying, he read the microwave instructions. He hummed along to a vaguely familiar song as he laid strips of bacon onto a plate- the song sweet and dreamy, the bacon cold and clammy. Gavin set a timer, wondering what Jack would say if she knew Gavin was _microwaving_ bacon.

The eggs, Gavin decided, looked mostly edible. As did the bacon, the timer having signaled their completion. Gavin poured another cup of coffee for Michael, grumpily noting that he still had a headache.

Pleased with his efforts, Gavin piled an unnecessarily large serving of the food he had made into a tray, and brought it out to the living room.

He smiled, seeing that Michael was still fast asleep. Gavin set the tray on the ottoman, cocking his head as he stood admiring the pattern of light that had shifted from one side of Michael's curled body to the other, little slivers of light highlighting the milky pale of his skin. Gavin sat carefully on the couch, trying not to wake Michael. A sudden longing swept over him, urging Gavin to curl back up with Michael for a few more hours of sleep. Gavin fought against losing consciousness, but gave in at the thought of Michael’s soft, warm skin against his.

-

“Gavin?”

A quiet voice stirred Gavin from sleep, waking to find himself once again snuggled against Michael’s side; his head was tucked snugly under Michael’s chin, his lips pressed against Michael’s neck. Gavin noted happily that his hangover was gone, but jolted once the rest of reality hit him.

"Ah-" Gavin pulled away from Michael, feeling his face flush and not meeting Michael's eyes. "Morning, Michael,” he said cheerily. “I made us breakfast, but it’s probably cold by now.”

“I don’t mind,” Michael said with a sleepy smile, “thanks, boi.” He pulled the tray onto their laps, leaning against Gavin as he laughed. Gavin sat rigid, not sure why he was so suddenly halting with Michael's touch. Michael picked up a fork, stabbing eggs onto it. "Wait," Michael said, muffled through a mouthful of food, "since when can you cook?"

"Uh," Gavin grimaced, "I can't. To be fair, I was still bloody exhausted when I had the idea."

"Well," Michael swallowed, "they're not shit. Here, taste." Michael held his fork up to Gavin's mouth. 

Gavin opened his mouth to let Michael feed him, and chewed thoughtfully. "I think I'll let Jack handle it next time."

Michael smiled, leaning his full weight against Gavin to rest his head on the brit’s shoulder.

”Hey,” Michael said softly, “do I look old now?”

”Old?” Gavin chuckled, “Michael you look-” Gavin’s breath hitched, words dying in his throat as he looked down at Michael. The older man’s head was tilted up ever so slightly to meet Gavin’s gaze through his lashes, his face arranged in patient curiosity. Michael’s face was so close, _so close_ that Gavin couldn’t help but flick his gaze down to Michael’s lips, his mind wandering into thoughts like _soft, warm, inviting_. Gavin snapped his gaze back up to Michael’s eyes. “You look, uh,” Gavin licked his lips nervously, “you look great, Michael. You always do.”

Michael hummed, keeping his eyes locked on Gavin’s. A moment of silence passed between them, and Gavin opened his mouth to speak. Michael chose that moment to shift, tilting his face closer to Gavin, stopping when his lips were close enough to feel Gavin’s next breath.

“Well?” Michael asked, eyes filled with mischief as he watched Gavin’s gaze dart haphazardly from his eyes to his lips.

“Well-” Gavin didn’t finish his thought. He closed his eyes and pressed his mouth against Michael’s. 

Michael kissed him back softly, lifting a hand to the Brit’s cheek. Gavin smiled into their kiss, pulling away to grin fully at Michael.

“What?” Michael asked.

Gavin grinned wider, “Kiss the cook.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

Gavin gave Michael an offended look, then pouted, “It _is_ funny, Michael.” Michael rolled his eyes, a smile playing at the edge of his mouth. “Kiss the cook,” he muttered, then leaned forward to kiss Gavin again, breakfast long forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> gavin's inability to fry an egg is just me projecting


End file.
